Can I refill your eggnog for you? Get you something to eat? Drive you out to the middle of nowhere, leave you for dead?
Dear ________,
Hey, it’s that special time of the year again when we build a toyland town around the Christmas tree & see if reindeer really can fly. Christmas is the time to say I love you & bask in the laughter and joy of the entire year, to go to bed with visions of the dance of the sugar plum fairies. I could go on, but must not tarry as I have much to tell you about 2024.
Actually, my first event of the new year was a continuation of Christmas as I went to a Twelth night celebration, or as it's known in the Catholic faith, the Feast of Ephipany on or about Jan. 6. Kayla hosted this most religious celebration from her home in Bartlesville, Okla. She also sent her friend Mickey to the liquor store for more rum and vodka. According to tradition, whoever gets the plastic toy baby baked into a cake has to host the next year’s festivities. That happened to be Megan, the sweet lady who took her iPhone and videorecorded Kayla singing “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” and myself, singing The Jesus and Mary Chain’s 1985 college radio hit, “Just Like Honey,” a lovely song about being another kind of plastic toy.
Of course, I’m old enough to remember a Sonny and Cher Christmas special, but age hasn’t kept me from pursuing my dream of returning to college in pursuit of a master’s degree. I know I told you back around 2011 or ‘12 that I had a P.h.D. from Harvard. That was a lie. Sorry. I feel bad about it, but in all actuality, I am moving toward obtaining a master’s in history from Wichita State University. It’s my job to write papers about 19th century Civil War battles, 20th century World Wars, a Cold War, protests and scandals and to tell you, the audience, why you should give a crap about it.
As a graduate teaching assistant (GTA), I taught a beginning speech class to college freshmen. I told the class to never go over time with a speech and I explained, “Language has loosened up a lot over time and we say things today that people might not have said 50 years ago – but not in class.” Then I broke my own rules in Advanced Historical Methods class where I went over time with my PowerPoint presentation and described a book, a primary document I’d perused, as “the most ass kissin’ thing I’ve ever read.”
Last May, my daughter, Makenzie, graduated from high school and we had a little party for her in which she humbly thanked me (and her mother) for all the years of support through her various stages of educational and personal development over the years. Most recently she’s moved in with her boyfriend, whom she describes as humble, hardworking and thrifty. I can’t stand him. I mean, the boyfriend, 13 bucks for a 12-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon, shitty Oklahoma roadways – I think it’s Trump’s fault.
Actually, Kenzie had a major milestone on the 12th of December when she turned 20. Sad, you know, my baby’s not a teenager anymore. Sadder still, that she has to share her birthday month with a man hauling a huge sack. But, hey, she shares a birthday with Frank Sinatra and that’s pretty rizz. Yes, I know the word, rizz. I’m so up with the slang the kids are saying these days.
Or for example, one might say, in video gamer speak, “poggers”, when something cool happens. You see, I’m on Discord now. Sure, my son, Sam, said talking to me on Discord “is like showing a caveman what a telephone is.”
Sam is still in college, enduring a rigamorole of classes that I couldn’t pass in a million years. Computer programming, drawing the human form, storyboards, visual graphics – I’d be a mess. He moved into an apartment with longtime girlfriend, Ashtyn. Their friend, Grace, moved in too. Sam stays up on world events, following the Associated Press, NY Times & BBC on his phone. We like to speculate on this YouTube page about Alternative History.
I’m just tickled pink to see our American history moving in the right direction. This is a country where a first generation American, an African Asian American woman, through sheer grit and persistence, can overcome all the obstacles in her way to become the first of her race or gender to be City Attorney in a place like San Fransisco, then District Attorney, then Attorney General – this and that – until she is the first woman and first Asian African American to be vice-president and to run for President on a platform of reproductive rights for women, respect for the Constitution and a nation of laws, not personality, someone who stands for good things like reform in healthcare and taxation and the federal legalization of cannabis. (Rock & Roll, Hootchie Coo!)
A country where a man who’s given his life to teaching, coaching and mentoring high school kids, then has done good things for his state as governor can run for vice-president under a woman.
That’s the kind of opportunity we have in this ever-evolving democratic-republic we call America where regular everyday Americans can say, “We’re tired of the bullshit. We’re ready to move on.” Except we’re not because everyday Americans preferred a lying, conning, oligarchial, democracy hating, dictator-wanna be, sexual predator, mafia boss who never held office a day in his life, whose only “qualification” for the presidency is having been born to a wealthy one percent family (no white male privilege there), because they didn’t like the price of eggs at the grocery store. Now what’s he saying? It’s hard to reduce grocery prices. I bet it is. Way to go to America. You had a good idea – vote with your pocketbook – and it bit you in the ass.
Speaking of shit, I clogged Kayla’s toilet. It was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. She went to the store, and I ran to the bathroom. Imagine my embarrassment when she had me get the special plunger from her garage and she said, “What have you been eatin’, boy?” I’m happy to report, however, that I have since cut down on carbs, fats and sweets and I’m eating more fruits and vegetables. Far be it for me to ever get specific and gross about such matters, but I don’t have to wipe my butt as much and use so much toilet paper. Really, that’s all you need to know.
As you may remember, Kayla and I began our relationship on May 1, 2023 when I wowed her with my uncompromising wit. I wouldn’t say our relationship has run its course. It’s just been through complicated stuff and evolving. I don’t know the future, but she said, “We have a bond.” It’s all for the best because, until I attain that master’s degree in the spring of ‘26, I’ve taken a vow of celibacy. Hell, maybe I’ll stay away from alcohol too. And with a proper diet and exercise, who knows?
And isn’t that the great thing about Christmas? We can share in the moment of joy, love and giving especially if we have a roof over our heads, a job, transportation and aren’t deluged with bills. We can all celebrate that holiest of nights long ago when an undocumented, dark-skinned couple could find refuge in a barn for the mother to give birth to the greatest gift this world has ever had, the King of Kings.
Hey now, gotta split. Be nice to each other. Please don’t shit in someone’s toilet and leave big, muddy yule logs that clog up the plumbing. Be good to yourself and your own health. Be a pogchamp. Don’t be jetbating anybody. Now is the time to hit the reset button. So go out there in 2025 and love the shit out of everybody.
Merry Christmas,
Jeff
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